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A Cup of Comfort.
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A Cup of Comfort
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The following story is excerpted from:
A Cup of Comfort Cookbook
Recipes to please our palates, stories to lift our spirits
First, You Eat
By Carol M. Hodgson, Gibsons, British Columbia, Canada
My Grandma Josephine ran a classic Polish kitchen: all tomato and dill and cabbage and caraway, with fragrant pots steaming from early morning until early evening. Just before supper was served, the pots and pans were finally emptied and cleaned for the next day. Supper was served late, at around 8:00 p.m., and usually consisted of cold cuts, sausage, homemade bread, dill pickles, beet relish, and perhaps reheated holubtsi (cabbage rolls).
The farmhouse sat near the railroad tracks, making it a natural stop for men down on their luck. No one but Grandma would hear the tentative, barely audible knock at the wooden screen door. She'd open the door to a gaunt and raggedy man, eyes too big for his pale grim face, his baggy clothes dusty from traveling in the boxcar or alongside the road. His hands might tremble as the aroma from the simmering pots wafted out to the porch where he stood. Politely, he'd ask whether there was some work he could do, anything at all, in exchange for a meal. Grandma's answer was always the same.
"First, you eat," she would say, and open the door wider so the man could enter.
Once inside, the man was handed a towel and shown the washroom. Cleaned up, he was invited to sit at the table.
My grandparents didn't have much: a handful of milk cows, a few chickens, hills of potatoes, rows of beets. My mother tells of living one entire winter on potatoes and beets with an occasional chicken thrown in. Whatever they had, they shared, and for the man at the door, there might be borscht, potato and dumpling soup, and pyrohy with potato filling-more food than he'd seen in a long time.
When he had eaten, the stranger would set about doing whatever tasks my grandmother needed done. As he worked, she'd pack him some bread and cold pyrohy to take with him on his journey. Hours later, Grandma would find the bundle gone-and, sure enough, the firewood split, the garden weeded, and the henhouse cleaned, just as she'd asked. Often, leaves would be raked and the front sidewalk swept, too, as though a meal and the unconditional compassion that went with it were worth far more than the original asking price.
Unlike my grandparents, I did not live through the famines of the Ukraine. I never spent a whole winter eating nothing but potatoes. I never had a hungry, down-on-his-luck man knock on my door, offering to mend a fence for a bit of food. But I can hear my grandma's voice, just as clearly as if I were sitting in her steamy, dill-scented kitchen, responding to the tap, tap, tapping at her door:
"First, you eat."
I am about the age now that my grandmother was then. As though driven by Zatylny genetics, without recipe books to guide me, I make traditional foods and think about her kitchen in that little white farmhouse. A longing flutters in my stomach and rises to my throat . . .
I want to make soup and give it away, no questions asked. Grandma Zatylny's Borscht
Submitted by Carol M. Hodgson, Gibsons, British Columbia, Canada
Throughout the fall and winter, a pot of this earthy soup often simmers in my kitchen. I make it large and enjoy sharing it with those in need.
Servings: 8
- 3 cups water
- 4 medium beets, peeled and diced
- 1 medium potato, peeled and chopped
- 2 medium carrots, peeled and chopped
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 1 cup shredded cabbage-white, red, or a combination
- 4 cups vegetable stock or water
- ¼ cup vinegar or lemon juice
- 1 cup chopped fresh tomatoes or 1 can (14.5 ounces) of diced tomatoes
- 2 Tbs. chopped fresh dill or 1 Tbs. dried
- 2 Tbs. fresh parsley
- 1 crushed garlic clove
- 2 tsp. salt
- Pepper to taste
- 1 bay leaf
1. Combine 3 cups water, beets, potato, carrots, onion, and cabbage in a large saucepan, bring to a boil, and cover. Simmer about 20 minutes or until vegetables are cooked through.
2. Add 4 cups stock, vinegar, tomatoes, dill, parsley, garlic, salt, pepper, and bay leaf. Cover and simmer at least another 30 minutes.
3. In the Polish tradition, top with a dollop of sour cream and serve with pickled herring, rye bread, dill pickles, and slices of cheese.